


pieces of you

by ElasticElla



Series: tumblr drabbles and fics [83]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly hates photographs. It’s one of the first things Freddie learns about her, well, one of the first personal things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pieces of you

**Author's Note:**

> first posted [here](http://parkwest.tumblr.com/post/138765004455/beverly-hates-photographs-its-one-of-the-first)

Beverly hates photographs. It’s one of the first things Freddie learns about her, well, one of the first personal things. She doesn’t learn the why for quite some time, for some dinners and crime scenes and promises kept.

She says the photographs don’t tell the truth, they don’t capture enough for that. Like slices of prepackaged might-be truths, that are far too easy to forget to question. Video’s better, Beverly says, better but still insufficient. She says her articles are just like photographs, shallow and doctored, technical truths encased in suppositions. She wants to examine the raw materials, wants to _know_. 

Freddie learns to hate photographs too.

That was never Beverly’s intention, but she learned too late anyways.

.

She never downloads the pictures from Beverly’s murder.

They sit on a sim card on her mantlepiece, behind an old photograph, and she tries not to wonder about the tip. Freddie’s not a fool, she’s sure the tip came from the murderer. The question was if they knew about their relationship, if it was a taunt or an apology, if she was expected to look and publish them.

Freddie buys a brand new gun instead and tells herself to stop thinking about it.

.

Whenever her eyes close she sees slivers of Beverly- literal and metaphorical.

She sees the first half of her, beauty to abrupt horror. And every time, for the first moment, she thinks Bev might be alive- the near perfect statue couldn’t possibly be _real_. But then Beverly is sliced thinner and thinner, and it’s just so _wrong_. Bev always took up space, and it feels like a mockery, as though enough hollowness could make up for the lack of her.

She sees their first night together, how she was puffed up with nervous energy and Beverly just laughed, kissing her slowly. It was the first time they didn’t just fuck each other, frustrations taken out against bathroom doors with a dozen curses. This wasn’t payback or a threat, it was the start of something new.

She rediscovers Bev’s body over and over. The observatory looms over her, and Freddie fights not to go in. Even without her feet moving though, she finds herself back in the room, camera around her neck. Her finger is heavier than ever, but she knows if she doesn’t click, she won’t wake. And perhaps that wouldn’t be such a cruel fate, but this can’t be her last memory of Beverly. So she clicks and clicks and clicks, stomach turning.

Upon waking, Freddie still hasn’t figured out which nightmare is the worst: the horror, the hope, or the helplessness.


End file.
